A Year in a Yurt: Lessons on Life’s Path


For nearly a year beginning at the start of the Covid pandemic I lived in a yurt tucked within a canyon in rural Washington. It lay hidden off Canyon Road, a 15 minute drive from the nearest town of Lyle: population 250.


When I first moved to Washington at the beginning of 2020 I lived 30 minutes away from the yurt in another small town off the Columbia River. I moved into a large home with a shamanic healer (which was its own interesting experience), but 2 months later Covid shut down the brewery I’d been working at and I needed to find a more affordable place to live. I decided to hop on Craigslist and stumbled upon the yurt advertised as “peaceful rustic cabin on shared land.”


The woman who owned the yurt also owned the 13 acres it sat upon, along with a tiny house 100 yards away, a huckleberry colored home where she lived, a stone circle, a goat pen, an area for the chickens and goats, and an outhouse. Her name was Jerri, and she called her land Ripple Wood.


Jerri was a rather majestic woman who seemed to be directly plugged into the flow of the universe. She wore long, flowing shawls like you might see Stevie Nicks wearing, and she had the most childlike smile of anyone I’ve met. Every time she giggled (and that was often) she seemed to morph into a little girl again. She loved medieval everyth